There's something almost mythological about destruction by fire1. The way flames consume with selective devastation, transforming the physical into memory with ruthless efficiency. We speak of "trial by fire"
Less than 72 hours earlier, in suburban America, I lived in a world of painted lines and traffic signals, where transgressing these boundaries triggered a cascade of social sanctions: horns, gestures, muttered curses.
Consider time travel1. Not the Hollywood variety with its shiny machines and questionable physics, but the kind that happens when you pick up a pen and decide that something - or someone -
By the time the gate agent announced that Japan Airlines Flight 67 would begin boarding in thirty minutes, Gate B17 had already metastasized into a fully operational economic hierarchy—status jockeying, strategic pre-positioning,
My friend's (let's call him Gallant) junk drawer contained exactly three items: a screwdriver, a pair of scissors, and a notepad. When I asked him about this unconventional interpretation
